Barring unforeseen circumstances, this will probably be the last day for a while for me to pick D.J. up from school. He knows it, too. “Grandma Sue has been gone a long time,” he told me today. “When she comes home I’m going to give her a big squeeze, like a boa or a python.” And then we were off and running on a discussion of snakes, and he wanted to know if there were anacondas in Australia.
I told him no, I was pretty sure anacondas lived in South America. He told me I was wrong. Apparently Australia is lousy with anacondas. Who knew?
So anyway. Watch out, Suzanne. You’re in for at least one monster hug when you get back from vacation tomorrow. (And that’s not all, I’m sure.)
As we were walking from the classroom to my car, he asked me, “Do you ever get mad?” Obviously, he’s never seen me when I lose it, as I do so very often. But he’s never seen me get angry at him. In fact, and I didn’t think to tell him this at the time, almost all my anger is directed at circumstances and inanimate objects, not people. And especially not almost-seven-year-old boys.
“I get angry sometimes,” he said. “Mostly at school.” This I knew, from the reports his teacher sends home. He has control issues, but everyone is on his side (whether he knows it or not), and parents and teachers are working together to help him get past them.